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Chapter Seven: The Longest Mile

Duncan

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Immortality...it is simply the art of learning how to sleep with your enemy. It is an enemy of self, an enemy of birth, a threat to everything you hold dear. Yet still you walk forward, embracing what you can of life. Refuse to give in to the hollow emptiness that beckons at each of your companion's untimely ends. An incessant snare set forth at first breath which can only be broken by the giving over of one's self.

It is a life lived with one foot in the living and one foot in the dead. An existence of shadows, of deadly treacherous games where no one wins. It is enough, sometimes, to walk away, knowing you live. That the one you left behind is no more. And sometimes, it is enough to have lived just once, never mind waking up to live twice.

Can you smell the scent of blood left at your passing? The disparaging cry cursing you with their last breath, as you wake whole and walk from the battlefield never to look back. You get to live and you get to listen while they die, their life force sinking into the rapidly fertile grounds. Their screams haunt your nights years, centuries later, catching you off guard.

Then the darkness surrounds you, making even the most religious of you capable of falling into the pit. A razor's edge walked with fine steps, slicing and marking the blooded fabric of your life. You cannot know the temptation of falling under the black spell, for once where there lived beauty now reigns a regret of living hell.

~~~

Gathering my courage, I stepped into the bar unsure of my welcome. Surprised, I noted how little had been changed over the last two years. All as if time had stopped, waiting.

Joe's was empty, as I expected, but hidden within its folds rose images of those days gone past. The ghosts of what had been. What would have been. What might have been had I stayed, all played out on a screen of dust and light filtering in from the open door.

Methos blithely raising his glass, mocking my follies yet again.

Joe, on stage, his guitar humming to life as he strummed the mournful melody.

Methos tossing his arm on my shoulder as he leaned in to whisper a joke, then laughing at the confusion evident on my face.

Joe wiping down the bar, laughing with Methos because *he* had already figured out the Old Man's game.

Methos his hand on my arm, hazel eyes intense...

The might have been's were abruptly interrupted by a half croaked, half startled groan.."Mac!?"

"Hey, Joe." A huge smile broke over his face, and I supposed it matched my own. Grabbing him in a big bear hug, I nearly lifted him off the floor.

"When did you get into town?" Sinking onto the nearest bar stool, I let the familiar tones wash over me. I was bone tired, needed to hear the sound of his voice, watch as he ambled about the bar. He placed a beer in front of me and we fell into the easy pattern of catching up, chatting like old friends.

"Few hours ago. Needed to settle a few business arrangements, and here I am."

"So, where were you?? Can I ask, as a friend."

"Here, there. There mostly."

Joe slapped his leg and just shook his head at me, snickering.

"What?"

"Mac, you hung around the Old Man way too long."

"What'd you mean?"

"You sounded just like him there for a second. Something only Methos would say."

It was a bittersweet comment. Past tense. I wondered how much longer I could avoid this particular subject.

"I just needed to clear my head, Joe. Sort some things out. Spent some time up at the cabin. Visited old friends. Not anywhere in particular."

"What kind of things?"

"About who I am, now. Those kinds of things." I give him my most outrageous grin but Joe doesn't fall for it, not for one second. Chuckling, I bring the cold beer back to my mouth and swallow, giving myself some more time to work out a better answer. Joe is still smarter than he looks. There are times when he *knows* me better than I know myself.

"And?"

"I still don't know , Joe. But it doesn't hurt as much as before." Tossing back the rest of the beer, Joe didn't push for an answer but I could see the question in his eyes. 'What doesn't hurt?' His question echoes Sean's, his voice rising from the depths within, 'Yes, Duncan. Why does it hurt? What hurts? Do you even know?'

His voice has haunted my steps for the last two years, yet I came here. With a purpose. I had someone to find, because he knew the answers to these questions. Could help me cut straight to the heart of the matter and let nightmares settle, find peace in the darkness.

"How do they do it, Joe? Those old immortals, like Methos and Amanda. How do they live not just for centuries, but for thousands of years?"

"Got me, Mac."

The weight settled on my shoulders again. The oppressive need to just fall, give in to the pain. Knowing I had avoided, ignored and simply tried not to think about this one question for as long as I could, I asked.

"Where is the Old Man, anyway? Is he still in town?"

"No, and I don't think he's coming back."

"Why not?"

"Well you know Methos just about as well as I do, Mac. What does he have to come back for? What's here?"

"He's your friend! Of course he'd come back to see you if nothing else, Joe." I couldn't imagine Methos just forgetting about Joe. It didn't seem possible.

"It's just a feeling, Duncan." Joe shrugged nonchalantly, as if it really didn't matter, but Duncan could see that it did.

"He said good-bye, didn't he?"

"He said, 'Take care, Joe', clasped my arm, and walked away. That's about as close to saying good-bye as the Old Man will ever get." Joe laughed, this time with fondness for the memory.

"Do you know where he went?"

"Egypt." Joe chuckled again.

"Egypt?" Shocked, I just looked at Joe like he was crazy. Why would Methos tell Joe where he was going? It didn't make sense. It wasn't his style to leave a trail. And one so easily followed.

"It seems a young archaeologist with what the Old Man terms 'a highly questionable background' is digging in one of his former haunts...."

For the first time, a true smile slid over my face, and eagerly I leaned forward to catch all the details.

It *was* just like old times.

~~~

Life is bound by journeys, each a step toward some unknown destination.

It is a river which continuously flows. The gentle trickle from melting mountain tops giving way to a budding stream. A waterway tossing and thrashing upon the rocks, finally ending the mad rush to kiss the sea as life finds its crescendo.

From there each drop is gathered into the massive folds of an imperial wave, to be battered and tossed upon the shore. And the struggle begins anew to reach back to that place of encompassing warmth. The place at journey's end where we find meaning for ourselves in the struggle, before we are lost yet again in the cycle of living, of dying.

But then, there has ever been more lost than is ever found in this world.